


Ramblings of Frozen Men

by MiguelBolinski



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: chapters can be stand-alones, everyone is fucked up in the head
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-06 02:00:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6733459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiguelBolinski/pseuds/MiguelBolinski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A glimpse into the inner thoughts of our dear metaphorical and physical capsicles. </p><p>A.K.A This is prime rambling ground.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

What should it mean, all of this? Should it mean anything to anyone? At least, anyone I know?

Although knew would be a more apt, more correct. The one truth that remains in the sea of lies.

They ask me if I can adapt, if I can still fight, if I can give my everything again and again. 

And we share the implicit knowledge. That a command lies behind their sympathies. That greed moves behind their pleas. That a soldier's rest is not for me.

So they praise me as I dance to their tune. As I jump and twirl like a child at the mere suggestion. As they show me how they reached the moon.

And all I can do is to not laugh and shake as they load me with trivia and illusions of grandeur.

No matter how you take the sickness out of the soldier, you can't force it out of the man. And I am lost, neither ghost or man. In my shell stands the soldier and in my heart a child will strain for moments long gone in flame.

And as I scream for yesterday, a hollow rebirth is all I gain.


	2. Chapter 2

He's always loved books. And he's always liked reading. Be it some soggy paper on the trodden ground or a cherished library book, thicker than his wrists and twice as heavy, he took to it like a thirsty, avid glutton.

But what he loved best of all were the stolen moments. On days when shudders wrack their way through his frail frame and a cool, familiar hand trails over his feverish skin. When a voice slowly works through their meager collection of books, rotting pitiful things twice his age and all the more precious for it. As the familiar voice cards through the haze of looming death and grief, fingers card through his locks and he used to think "This is what Heaven will look like once I'm gone."

And then death came along. And her lullaby spread on and on. And yet again the drums of eternal sleep did not beat out to him. Spared his weak shell for that of the robust mother. And his screams drowned down the words she whispered in his delicate young ear, huddled and adoring in the night.

"And they lived happily ever after."


End file.
